


R.I.P

by KittyKatBella



Series: Ford's Suicide Story [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Heavy Angst, Suicide, There is no happy ending to this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-01 04:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12148368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyKatBella/pseuds/KittyKatBella
Summary: It wasn't the same without him. He had a brother and two friends who missed him more than anything.If only he were around to know it.





	1. R.I.P

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: Suicide, homophobic language, character death.
> 
> Suffer.
> 
> Ninth grade, 14 years old.

"You may or may not know this already, but yesterday, one of our students here committed suicide."

Gasps echoed around the room, and multiple students covered their mouths in shock.

Bella was one of them.

 _Woah,_ she thought. _That's... woah. Who...?_

The teachers remained silent for a moment before continuing.

"The student's name was Stanford Pines," the teacher announced. Louder gasps were heard from both Bella and Fiddleford, as well as a couple other students. Bella and Fiddleford looked over at Stan, who was staring at the floor in front of his chair. His eyes glossed over and he rubbed at them.

Bella let out a sob, covering her mouth again as tears leaked out from her eyes. Fiddleford didn't look any better.

"There are counselors and teachers in the media center if you need anyone to talk to," the teacher continued. Her voice sounded hoarse and broken. "Don't hesitate to ask to go down."

The room became silent. A second teacher rubbed the first teacher's back as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. The second teacher went around asking if anyone needed to leave.

"Stan, Ah..." Fiddleford trailed off, shaking his head and reaching out to take Stan's hand comfortingly. "Ah'm so sorry..."

"...thanks, Fiddlesticks."

Bella took off her glasses and rubbed at her tears using her shirt, standing up and gathering her things.

"Do you need to go down to the media center?" One of the teachers asked her.

"Mm-hm," Bella nodded, still rubbing at her face.

"Ah'll go with her," Fiddleford said, standing up as well. "Stan, ye wanna...?"

"Yeah. Ok," Stan murmured. He joined his friends (now they knew why he had left his supplies in his locker) and a couple other students as they went down to the library. Fiddleford had one arm around Bella, struggling to hold his stuff in one arm.

"...that's why ya've been so quiet, isn't it?" Fiddleford asked Stan softly. When he didn't answer, he looked over to see tears running down Stan's face. "Ye knew."

Stan nodded, and Bella began sobbing harder. They reached the library and went inside, where a few teachers and students already were. The three friends sat in the corner in a group of comfy chairs, and Bella and Fiddleford set their stuff on the ground. A teacher came over to them.

"Do you three need to talk?" She asked. "I know you were very close to Stanford."

Bella sobbed harder and buried her face in her arms. Fiddleford squeezed in to sit next to her and wrapped her in a hug.

"Ah think we jus' need ta sit fer awhile," he answered.

"Yeah," Stan agreed.

"Alright," the teacher nodded and rubbed Stan's shoulder. "I'm very sorry, Stanley. Your brother was an amazing person."

"Thanks," Stan mumbled. The teacher left the three of them in the corner, and the three sat silently. Both Bella and Fiddleford had their glasses set on the side table nearby. After a moment or two, Bella moved to sit with Stan and hug him.

"I-I'm sor-orry," she sniffed. "He's your br-brother."

Stan sobbed and hugged her back. Bella buried her face in his shirt, and it quickly became soaked.

"Thanks, sweetie," he whispered. Fiddleford sat in the chair beside them, rubbing at his face.

"Ah really never thought..." He murmured. "Oh, Stanferd..."

"I can't believe I didn't notice," Stan said. "Right after our suicide unit in health and everything. I went with him, too, when he went to give some of his books to the English teacher? I thought he was just being Ford."

"Givin' things away," Fiddleford nodded.

"It's one'a tho-those things tha-that you never would thi-think it would ha-happen to anyone you know o-or affect you," Bella sobbed.

"Yeah. No kidding," Stan agreed.

\-----

The bell rang, and the few students left settled into their seats. The English teacher stood up front, and the classroom became completely silent.

"As I'm sure you're... all aware," the teacher began, her voice threatening to break down into tears, "we lost a very special student today." She stood in front of Ford's desk, which was between Stan's and Bella's. "And lots of teachers are just letting you sit, but... I think we should chit-chat a bit."

Bella rubbed at her eyes again, and Fiddleford leaned over to wrap an arm around her.

"Stanley," the teacher moved to rub his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. Stanford was your brother, and I know you two were very close. If you feel you need to, you're welcome to head down to the media center."

"Thanks, Ms," Stan replied.

"Stanford was... _such_ a joy to teach," the teacher continued. "Always- always participating, and he was always so excited and happy to learn..." Stan sniffed and pressed his palms into his eyes. "And he- he came to me the other day and gave me this... this _big_ stack of books, and he said 'Share these with the other kids. Let them read them, they're great'-"

"Giving things away," a kid piped up. "One of the suicide signs we learned."

"Exactly," the teacher nodded. "And I just thought he was- he was being nice. And when people commit suicide- why don't you think they tell anyone?"

The room was silent.

"They think people are gonna make fun of them for it," a girl answered.

"Right," the teacher said. "And I asked him- I went up to him and asked 'Who's bullying you?' Because you could- it was obvious he was being bullied." Stan shot a glare at Crampelter, who was sitting across the room, clearly bored. "And you would never think he would- he would do it."

"Ugh, yawn! Can we get passed this already?"

The class all turned to look at Crampelter, and if looks could kill, Stan's glare would have murdered him instantly.

"Crampelter!" The teacher scolded. "That's very rude!"

"What?" Crampelter said. "All I'm saying is this is gettin' old. Nobody really _cared_ about that little freak. We're better off without him- OOF!"

The boy ended up on the floor, Stan standing above him, furious and crying.

"You take that back!" He yelled.

"What the hell, Pines?" Crampelter snapped, holding the side of his face.

"You take it back!" Stan repeated. "Now! Everything about Ford!"

"Yeah, that ain't right!" Fiddleford agreed angrily. "A'course people cared about Stanford!"

"Oh yeah? Name one person besides you freaks," Crampelter glared. No one spoke. "That's what I-"

"I cared about him," a girl spoke up.

"So did I."

"I did, too."

One by one, every one of the seven to eight kids in the class stood up and declared that they, too, cared about Stanford. Stan grinned and wiped at his wet cheeks before smirking triumphantly at Crampelter. The older boy growled and climbed to his feet, still holding his cheek.

"Crampelter, go down to the nurse," the teacher instructed. Crampelter grumbled and grabbed his stuff before leaving. "Stan, I'm so sorry about that."

"Don't be," Stan shook his head, rubbing his knuckles. "I've been wanting to punch his lights out since last night. Feels good to finally do it."

\-----

"Stan! Stan, you gotta come see this!"

"What? What is it?" Stan asked.

"Just- come on!" Bella pulled him along, and the teacher let them go. Bella led her boyfriend towards where their lockers were. When they reached the row, a locker covered in brightly-covered sticky notes from top to bottom caught Stan's eye.

"Wha-" His eyes widened as they stopped in front of Ford's locker. Sticky notes covered its surface, each with a message from a different person. Stan even saw Fiddleford and Bella's names. Even his locker, which was right beside it, had a few sticky notes with words of encouragement along the lines of 'We're here for you'. "What- woah..."

"Word about what Crampelter said got around and people decided to show that they really do care," Bella explained with the faintest of smiles.

"That's... that's amazing," Stan managed a small grin. "Wow..."

"It is," Bella agreed. "And really sweet, too. ...People really _did_ care about him. I've seen so many people crying, and so many people had to go home..."

She began crying again and took off her glasses, rubbing at the tears. Stan pulled her into a hug, planting a kiss on the top of her head. They stood in the hallway for awhile, and when they returned to the classroom, the teacher didn't say a thing.

\-----

_"...Hey Stan?"_

_"Hm? What's up, Sixer?"_

_"I... I love you, you know that?"_

_"Uh, yeah? Love you too?"_

_"...I'm gonna go use the bathroom."_

_"Alright. Hey get popcorn, won't ya?"_

_"Ok..."_

_..........._

_"Hey Sixer, you alright? You missed the rest of the movie." ... "Ford? You in there?" ... "Locked. Right. Ford! Hey, are you ignoring me? Come on man!" ...... "Ugh, open! Sixer?! Sixer! Stanford!"_

_..........._

_"Alright, lock-picking skills, don't fail me now." ... "Almost..." ... "Got it! Ford, what's up with- ...Ford?! SIXER!"_


	2. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Same as the last chapter. There's like, description of suicide in this one.
> 
> Suffer, pt. 2.

"Hey, get popcorn, won't ya?"

"Ok..." Ford responded. He folded his hands in his pockets, fidgeting with the folded-up sheet of paper, and made his way to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and exhaled slowly, looking at himself in the mirror.

Bags under his eyes. Not the usual 'stayed up late reading and didn't get enough sleep' kind of bags. The ones that came from countless nights of laying awake at night, unable to sleep from dreading school the next day.

He seemed thin, too. What could he say? He just didn't feel hungry. And when everything tasted almost the same? Well, he _really_ didn't want to eat, then.

"Alright," he breathed. He pulled the paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, rereading it over one last time.

_Dear friends and family,_

_By the time you read this, I will (hopefully) be long gone. I'm sorry for any inconveniences I cause you, but I just don't feel like continuing._

_School is- was- stressing me out. Not the classes, no. But rather, the people. Students._ Others _. There's multiple culprits, but the main one is Crampelter. I just can't deal with him anymore. The taunts and physical violence on my sexuality and my deformity... they've just gone too far. I still have the bruises from months of bullying. And even home caused anxiety... Stan will understand. I know he will. Well, I won't have to worry about either of them anymore..._

_And now, I suppose I should deal out what used to be my belongings. That's how it works, correct? Anyways..._

_Stanley. First of all, please don't think that this is in anyway your fault. You were an amazing brother. So to you I give my prized collection of deformed jelly beans, along with all my maps. Astrological, geographical- all of them. Perhaps you would enjoy them. Or not. Just please keep them safe._

_The rest of my books that haven't been donated to the school are to be split up between Bella and Fiddleford. They can choose whichever ones they want. I hope they enjoy them._

_Bella. You were one of the best friends I could ask for. And for that, you may have all of my sketchbooks and journals. Perhaps you could learn from them. Take the stories my journals tell, the legends they recount, the designs my sketchbooks contain, and write to your heart's desire._

_And Fiddleford. Wow, what to even say? You were... you were amazing. THE best friend I ever had. And it's... it's silly, probably- silly, even, that I'm revealing this now, when I'm already gone- but... I think I had a CRUSH on you. Or... maybe not. I've never been the best with romance. What even constitutes a crush? Oh, I'm getting off topic... To you I leave all my science and scientists posters. And perhaps, the knowledge that you could always bring a smile to my face? You'll enjoy those._

_And with that, with all my belongings divvied up between all my friends, I supposed I only need to say goodbye._

_With Regards,_

_Stanford Pines_

"Perfect," Ford murmured. He took a deep breath, pinned the note to the mirror, and pulled a bottle from the medicine cabinet. He looked at it and raised it to his lips before slamming it back down on the counter.

"Gah! What's wrong with you, Stanford?" He hissed, staring at himself in the mirror. "Come on. Just one gulp and it's all over. No more people yelling faggot, yelling freak, no more Crampelter..." His thoughts drifted to his brother. "No more Stanley..." His face became hard. "No. The negatives outweigh the positives. I can't spend another day dealing with those people and those _words_..." Tears slipped down his face. "I can't."

He looked at the bottle in his hand- his freakish, _deformed_ hand- once again. He exhaled and shook his head.

"Come on, Stanford. It's... it's just like drinking warm milk to help you fall asleep," he murmured. "Yeah, that's it. Nothing more, nothing less. Heck, it'll work quicker than that! ...hopefully." He read over the ingredients on the back of the bottle. "I hope I calculated correctly. I really don't want all those side effects... just the one."

And with that, he knocked the bottle back and gulped. As soon as it left his lips, he felt sick. Oh yeah, it was working. Ford looked at himself in the mirror, and as he saw himself turning colors and felt himself blacking out, he had one thought.

_I don't want to die._


	3. Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suffer, pt. 3.

"Hey Sixer, time to- oh..."

Stan rolled over and suddenly remembered that, yes, he no longer had a Sixer to wake up.

"Right," he mumbled. He laid in bed for a bit longer than usual before sitting up and getting dressed. He combed his hair and almost spoke to challenge Ford to a toothbrush race like they did every morning.

"Mornin'," he greeted upon reaching the kitchen.

"Morning, sweetie," Ma murmured, squeezing him in a hug before setting a plate of breakfast in front of him. There was an extra set of waffles. Stan knew it wasn't just his ma trying to comfort him.

The breakfast table was quiet for awhile as Stan poked at his food. He, surprisingly, wasn't that hungry.

"So... honey, how's school?" Ma asked cautiously. "Is everything ok?"

"Everything's fine, Ma," Stan mumbled. "I promise."

Ma sighed and hugged him again. Stan let her.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she whispered. "I just don't want to lose the only baby boy I have left."

\-----

"Hey Stan," Fiddleford greeted outside of school. "How ya feelin'?"

"Not great," Stan mumbled. Bella nodded in agreement.

"It's so weird," she spoke. "Like, not a good weird. I keep seeing things and thinking 'Oh, I should send that to Ford!' And... yeah..."

"I get it," Stan nodded. "I went to wake him up this morning, until I... remembered he wasn't there..."

"Gosh," Fiddleford murmured, his eyes drawn to Ford's locker as they passed it. "Everythin' ain't right. I always ask myself if I'll ever have the courage to tell him I like him, and Ah did it this mornin', too..."

Stan would have cried again if he still had any tears in him. What was it Ford always said? People can't cry if they're dehydrated, because they don't have enough water or something. Stan thought he should probably drink some water, then.

As they arrived in their first class, they saw that everyone kept glancing at Ford's desk. Stan, however, was trying desperately to _not_ look.

That was difficult, since he sat right next to it.

Halfway through class he began to lean over and try to copy his brother's notes, only to be met with nothing.

During gym, Ford's locker was empty. Of course. His gym clothes were back home now. No use for them anymore.

At lunch, he sat with Bella and Fiddleford and almost saved Ford a seat for when he returned from his locker. He almost bought a second ice cream, since it Friday. He almost offered to throw Ford's tray away, since he likely had his nose stuck in some book.

In English, the teacher took out the stack of books Ford had given her and called Stan up.

"Stan, you knew Ford best- do you know which one of these was his favorite?" She asked. Stan looked at the titles on the sides of the books.

"That one," he answered, pointing. "That one is his favorite. He always goes on and on about it."

"Thank you," the teacher pulled it from the pile. "For the next few days we'll read this together. For Stanford."

Stan sat back down next to Bella and remained silent for the rest of class. Every time the teacher would read a part or sentence that Ford would always quote, he could hear his brother say them instead.

Halfway through that class, an announcement was made to wear gold and/or maroon on Monday, since those were Ford's favorite colors.

Almost, almost, almost. So many of them throughout the day. Almost this, almost that. He almost called for Ford when he saw Crampelter bullying some kid, to make sure the kid wasn't his twin. So many 'I should tell Ford's that ended in the unwelcome reminder that there _could_ be no more 'I should tell Ford's.

So many kids talking about all the good things. All the fun memories they had of him. Someone even remembered that time in third grade when Ford dressed as his new favorite scientist for a week. By the end of the day, Stan's locker was also covered completely in sticky notes. There was no more room left on Ford's.

It happened again. And again, and again.

"Hey Ford-" _what's the homework?_

"Do you wanna-" _go work on the Stan O' War?_

"Sixer! Get your-" _gross underwear off my side of the room!_

It would stop eventually, Stan knew. He would learn that every time he yelled 'Ford' or 'Sixer', there wouldn't be an answer.

The problem was, he didn't _want_ it to stop.


	4. Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford has to be the Fully Functioning Teen for Bella and Stan.

DENIAL

_"No no no no! Sixer? Ford! Wake up! Come on!"_

"I'm sorry about your brother."

"Thanks," Stan repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.

He wished people would stop bringing it up sometimes. That way he could act like it didn't happen. Like his twin brother was just home sick with some sort of bug. Like he would go home and fall on top of his brother, who would be laying on his bed, and recount the school day like it was the worst thing ever. Like he would then give Ford the homework and then voice how if _he_ was the one who was sick, he would refuse to do any work until the next day.

"Hey, Stan," a girl greeted him at lunch, about to sit beside him. "I'm sorry about-"

"You can't sit there," he blurted out before he could stop himself. The girl raised an eyebrow and stood back up. "That's Ford's seat."

"Oh... ok..." the girl stood awkwardly. "Sorry."

And she left to go sit with her friends.

The next day-  you wouldn't believe it, the timing of the thing- a new kid began going to the school. Stan entered the classroom and saw the kid sitting at Ford's desk.

"Hey," Stan said shortly. "That's my brother's desk."

"Oh," the boy picked up his stuff. "Sorry. Where is he?"

"He's..." Stan felt his throat tighten, and he shook his head. "It's not important. That's his desk. Move."

"Alright," the boy looked at him weirdly before moving to a different seat.

"His twin just committed suicide a few days ago," another student murmured to the new kid. "He used to sit there."

"Oh gosh..."

 _No,_ Stan thought. _No. Ford's just at home. He's fine. He's just sick._

Stan looked at the homework board and wrote down what was written. Just like he always did when Ford was sick.

Stan laid down that night, staring across the room at Ford's bed. He hadn't let his mom remove the blankets and sheets. It was just as messy as always.

"Night, Sixer," Stan spoke, staring at the pillow.

 _Night, Lee,_ he could hear him reply. Just as always.

ANGER

 _"No! You_ don't _get it! Just leave me alone!"_

Stan stood in front of it, his hands deep in the pockets of the stupid dress pants. Tears filled his eyes as his mouth formed an angry frown. He growled and kicked at the dirt.

"Come on, Sixer," he grumbled angrily. "Really. What'd you go and do this for? We were supposed to go together. On the Stan O' War. You _promised_."

He stared at the grave for a few more seconds before giving a short yell and stopping off.

"And you broke that promise."

The funeral was almost over.

"Sweetie, it's time to go home," Ma spoke softly, reaching to rub Stan's shoulder.

"Don't touch me," he grumbled, shrugging her hand off. He stomped towards the car, waiting outside of it when he found out it was locked.

"Hey, Stan," Bella murmured, walking over with Fiddleford. They were matching. Typical. "...you good?"

"What the hell do you think?" Stan snapped. "I just had to bury my brother. Of course I'm not good!"

Bella blinked and frowned.

"Hey!" Fiddleford frowned as well. "What was tha' abou'? She was only tryin' ta comfort ya, Stanley."

Stan scoffed.

"Not very well, huh?" He grumbled.

"Now really!" Fiddleford folded his arms. "What's brought this on? We're upset about losin' Stanferd too, ya know!"

Stan growled and was about to shout back when he noticed Bella standing timidly behind her best friend, drying another wave of tears. He sighed and looked down at his feet, kicking the pavement sadly.

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled. "Sorry. I just... Ford promised we'd go together. And then he went and did this, and-"

Bella hugged him around the chest, tears leaking onto his shirt. He hugged her back.

School hadn't been much better.

"Hey loser! Shouldn't you be gone by now?" Crampelter laughed. "I would think the teachers would have given up on ya without your freakish twin-"

"Shut up, Crampelter!" Stan shouted. "Just shut _up!_ It's your fault! You pushed him! If it weren't for you I'd still have my _FUCKING BROTHER!_ "

"Woah!" Crampelter just dodged the fist thrown his way. "Hey! Watch it!"

" _YOU WATCH IT!_ " Stan screamed, aiming to punch the bully's face. He succeeded, and Crampelter fell against the lockers. 

"Pines! Stan, stop it!" A teacher came running over, holding Stan back. "What on Earth are you doing?!"

"He was talking shit about Ford!" Stan cried, tears of anger forming. "Sixer ain't freakish!"

"Alright, alright," the teacher said. "Go take out your anger on one of the punching bags. I'll write you a note."

Stan huffed and stomped down the hall.

"You, Crampelter, are to go down to the nurse," the teacher scolded. "And then you're to come to me to receive your detention slips. I think two weeks should do it."

Stan smirked triumphantly.

BARGAINING

_"Do y'think that if I had noticed, Ford would still be alive...?"_

"Very impressive, Stanley!" The teacher smiled as she handed back Stan's test with a bright red 'B' in the corner. "Your grades have really picked up! I'm very proud."

"Thanks, Ms," Stan smiled lightly. That smile fell once the teacher moved on. A B wasn't enough. Ford always got A's. So, if Stan got an A, maybe something would happen. He wasn't sure what, though. Maybe it would be revealed that Ford really was alive?

"Wow Stan, yer grades are gettin' good," Fiddleford smiled encouragingly. "Any reason why?"

"I dunno... it's what Ford would have wanted," Stan shrugged and shoved his test in his folder. "Maybe I can, I don't know, make him proud or something?"

"Aww..." Bella frowned.

"Yeah, I knew it was dumb," Stan mumbled.

"That's not dumb!" Bella assured. "That's nice. I get it."

"Thanks. I just... ugh, I want him back so much!" Stan replied, laying on his desk. "I'd do _anything_ to see him again..." He noticed Bella's scared look. "Besides that! I promise. I won't leave you guys."

"Whew," Bella sighed in relief. "Good."

When Stan got home, he took the test from his backpack and taped it to the wall above Ford's bed. The B looked rather out of place among Ford's other A-covered papers, but it fit better than a C.

"We're gettin' there," Stan murmured, his eyes sweeping over all the papers, tests, and assignments. He then turned to look at the map taped above his own bed. It had been Ford's favorite. It was only a basic map of the world, but it was covered in red dots, each one representing a strange anomaly or going-ons somewhere. Ford had been documenting every one. They were where they were going to go on the Stan O' War.

Stan remembered something strange he had seen on the news that morning. Some sort of weird creature spotted in Oregon. He couldn't remember the name of the town, so he stuck a red dot in the center of the state.

DEPRESSION

_"No Ma, I'm not hungry... I'm sure. I'll just have some milk."_

Stan woke up, but he didn't get out of bed. And when Bella woke up, she stayed with him. Fiddleford was the only one up and moving.

"Mornin', y'all," he spoke, sitting across the room on the floor and eating a waffle. "Ya gonna get up?"

Bella shook her head.

"Yeah, me neither," Stan agreed.

"Alright," Fiddleford sighed. "Y'all at least want some breakfast?"

"I'm alright," Stan mumbled. Bella shrugged slightly.

"Some milk?" Fiddleford asked her. She slowly nodded. "Sippy cup?" She nodded again. "Alright, Ah'll get it fer ya."

Fiddleford left the room and was heard walking downstairs. Stan pulled Bella closer to him, closing his eyes and keeping his arm around her. He breathed in and kissed her forehead, rubbing up and down her back.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I've just been up and down these past couple weeks. I haven't spent a lot of time with you."

"It's alright," Bella mumbled. "I get it. I miss him, too. ...And I _really_ don't wanna lose you, too..."

"You won't," Stan promised. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here."

"Good..."

He stood in front of the grave again. But this time he was there with both Bella and Fiddleford. He hadn't been back since the funeral about two weeks ago. He still didn't want to see it. He wished it would go away and be replaced by his brother, alive and well.

_-Stanford Pines- A beloved brother and son._

That barely covered it. Stan could think of a million more things Ford was, but they wouldn't have fit on the headstone. Stanford was the best student, the best friend Stan could have ever asked for, the best twin to have ever existed. He was a nerd, a dork, awkward beyond belief, and so so _so_ much more.

Bella stepped forward to lay the bouquet of flowers at the base of the headstone. Without the plastic, they looked perfect against the fresh grass that had began to grow in over the disturbed dirt. 

The three friends stood for awhile before turning and walking back home.

ACCEPTANCE

_"That was my brother's desk. No one really uses it anymore. It's closer to the front, if you need it."_

Cleaning day. Or, sort of. Stan tried to distract his mind as he stripped the sheets off of Ford's old bed. Bella and Fiddleford had already taken the blankets and pillow case and put them in the hamper. The pillow was placed back in the cabinet. All of Ford's old clothes were gathered off the floor and tossed in the hamper as well. After they were cleaned, they would be donated.

All except the jacket.

Stanford's brown jacket had been hung in Stan's closet, the day they took it off to dress Ford for the funeral. Stan had refused to let anyone touch or clean it. Today, he had taken it out and worn it while cleaning.

Ok, maybe it should be washed after today. Ford had  _never_ used deodorant.

"Almost done, guys," he spoke when Bella and Fiddleford returned. "Just gotta clean up the tent and clear off the bookshelf. You guys wanna pick out some of them now?"

"Sure," Fiddleford nodded. Him and Bella sat in front of the shelf, beginning to go through the books. Bella got most of the fictional ones, and Fiddleford got the science and non-fiction books. He also took a few science-fiction books. By the time they divided the contents of the shelf up, everything was done.

It was almost like Ford hadn't lived there for the past fourteen years.

_Almost._

One entire wall was dedicated to all of Ford's projects and aced tests, along with a few group photos of him with Stan, Bella, and Fiddleford. And of course, the barrel Stan and Ford had found on the Stan O' War sat at the foot of Stan's bed, filled with the maps Ford had left for his twin.

It had been a long few weeks, and Stan had never felt worse during them. And of course, he was still upset and devastated about losing his brother. He wasn't convinced at all that he had cried for the last time about Ford. But hey, at least he had the courage to finally clean his stuff out of their room, and he had stopped using present-tense when referring to him.

That was a start, wasn't it?


	5. The Afterlife

It was... bright. Really bright. Like, almost eye-searing.

Ford blinked and rubbed at his eyes before realizing that he was in a... waiting room, it looked like. Strange, though, to have a waiting room for only a single person.

A man with wings looked up from the counter, frowned, and walked over to Ford.

"Stanford Pines," he spoke softly. "Far too young, far too young..."

"Wh-what's going on?" Ford asked nervously. "Wh-where am I?"

"Well, where would you like to be?" The man asked. "The afterlife isn't partial to a single religion, you know."

"T-the afterlife?" Ford gulped. "You mean...? Oh gosh, I really did it... I-I-I-"

"Ssh," the man soothed, reaching out to take Ford's hand and help him to his feet. "Take a breath. We'll take this one step at a time."

"I-I didn't mean to do it!" Ford cried, struggling to stand. "I-I just- oh gosh, oh gosh- I-I don't want to be dead! I want to go back!"

"I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid that isn't possible," the man shook his head. "That poison you created has already rendered your body useless. It was very impressive, though, for a boy your age. I must say."

Ford let out a choked sob.

"B-but I- Stanley, Bella, Fidds- I-I can't just le-leave them!" He sobbed.

"Ok ok, deep breath," the man repeated. "In," he demonstrated, and Ford copied him, "and out."

Ford let out a slow, shaky breath.

"I know how shocking is it to find out that you really are dead," the man began, "but we'll help you. That is our job after all. ...you really were far too young, Stanford. We get lots of people here. Nearly every single one of them regret their decision."

"M-my brother..." Ford murmured. "A-and my friends- what's gonna ha-happen to them?"

"Well, I assume your brother or perhaps one of your parents will find your body," the man mused. "After that, all there is to do is to sit and watch."

"W-we can watch?" Ford asked.

"Once we get you settled in," the man promised. "Now, what was your religion while you were alive?"

"Uh... oh man..." Ford sniffed. "I-I was brought up Jewish, bu-but I never really believed it..."

"Well, we have several afterlife options for those who didn't believe in one," the man said. "There's reincarnation, any heaven you choose; you could also go back as a ghost, under certain circumstances. Which, I apologize for, I don't believe you meet. We also have a space that's almost just like the real world, except you can do just about whatever you want."

"Um... that last one s-sounds nice..." Ford spoke up.

"Alright," the man smiled encouragingly. "I'll escort you there, and we'll get you signed in."

"Uh- th-thanks," Ford nodded. He began to walk, but was startled when he felt something flutter right behind him. "W-what was that?!"

The man smiled.

"Your wings, Stanford," he explained. "Since you said you didn't believe in a religion, you're an angel according to our rules."

"...oh..." Ford murmured. He fluttered the large white wings, already trying to figure out how they appeared without him realizing.

His hypothesis was he was too distracted with being dead.

Soon they reached what looked like a town. It looked exactly like where he had previously lived.

"We already have set up a space for you to live," the man said, leading Ford down the street. "You're able to customize it however you'd like. Just imagine what you want and it'll appear."

"I want my brother..."

"...unfortunately, it doesn't work with people," the man responded sadly. "Dead _or_ alive."

"Figures," Ford sighed. "...So I'm not... in trouble or anything?"

"Heavens no!" The man raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Why would you be?"

"I dunno..." Ford mumbled. "I was taught that... committing suicide was a sin..."

"Perhaps in Judaism, but you said you didn't believe in it, remember?" The man reminded him. "For our rules, committing suicide isn't a sin at all. We understand why people do it- most of the time- and we don't want to punish them any further."

"Oh... thanks, man," Ford grinned. They reached the space that would become Ford's home, and it looked exactly like the pawn shop. All he had to do was sign a few papers (which was a bit more difficult than imagined, considering how much his hand was shaking) and he was free to do whatever he pleased.

Which was, at that moment, check on his brother.

All he had to do was turn to a certain channel on the TV, type in the entire full name of the person he wanted to focus on ('Stanley Danley Pines'), and watch.

The movie had just ended, and now Stan was apparently trying to pick the lock of the bathroom door.

_"Almost..." The lock clicked open. "Got it! Ford, what's up with-"_

Ford could pinpoint the exact moment his brother's face turned frantic. And he really hated it.

_"...Ford?! SIXER!"_

Ford watched as Stan desperately tried to wake his body up. Ford knew the attempts were useless, but by every god that existed in this place, he really wished they weren't. He wished he could wake back up and comfort his twin and apologize for ever thinking of doing this in the first place.

Once Stan ran to get their mom, Ford couldn't watch anymore. He switched off the TV and stared at his reflection in the screen. He couldn't stop himself from crying.

He broke down on the couch, laying sideways and causing his glasses to slip off his face. He couldn't tell completely, but his vision seemed almost exactly the same- of course, he didn't need glasses here.

He clung to one of the throw pillows, silently willing it to become his brother. Hoping that maybe this was all a bad dream, and if he cried loud enough Stan would wake him up and tell him he was only having a nightmare, and they would sneak down to the kitchen to have a snack, and tell stories and jokes until Ford's laughter threatened to wake up their parents. Just like every time he had a nightmare.

Except it didn't happen.

No one came to comfort him, no one woke him up, no one was there to hold him and tell him it would be all better- even if that last one _was_ a bit childish. He was all alone, with no Stanley or Bella or Fiddleford or anyone at all. He had really done it; he had killed himself using a combination of chemicals, and now there was no chance for him to ever go back home. He had been dumb enough to think that this was better than dealing with Crampelter. That any afterlife- religion or no- would be better than going through life with his twin brother and best friend and other best friend that he _definitely_ hadn't had a crush on.

Not that it mattered anymore anyways. He could shout it at the top of his lungs- _"I have a crush on my best friend!"_ \- and it wouldn't make a difference. He was dead, all his friends were alive, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Except... feel sorry for himself. And honestly, wasn't that getting a bit old? Hadn't he been feeling sorry for himself for the past month? He was in heaven, for Pete's sake! A heaven where he could do whatever he wanted! He could redecorate the entire pawn shop to be his own personal science lab. Or make the living room permanently night time, so he could study the stars whenever he wanted. This was his home and his alone! He didn't have any rules!

And so, sitting up and furiously wiping away his tears, Ford shoved his glasses back onto his face and started changing the house. Getting rid of furniture and replacing it with piles of books and chemicals and endless hypothesis never acted on by scientists for _him_ to solve. He created telescopes and maps and diagrams, and made the building into his own personal science space.

And as for his bedroom? He left that exactly how he found it- full of memories from his and Stan's childhood. Stanley's toys and that mask he loved- Ford's small bookshelf, and the little space with books Bella had _insisted_ that he read. He created picture frames with memories of his friends and brother to hang on the empty walls. 

He was _done_ feeling sad and sorry and hurt. He was sick of fearing what was going to happen next. After all, he couldn't get hurt anymore! There were no more people to call him freak or faggot; no more Crampelter to trip him up in the hallways or shove him into lockers; no more Pa, no more anything! He was going to feel happy for the first time in weeks, and gosh darn it, he was going to do it now!

He just wished Stanley could have been there to see it.


End file.
